sudden, you were there—or
sudden, I caught sight of you
there, in the crabapple, too large,
proud, still, as it swayed and bobbed
feeders wild-gyrate in the wind
that lifted your chest feathers
like an impertinent hand
(that blaze of white!)
but majesty is ever unruffled
and if there is a king of birds
in this yard, your calm red eye
sleek head turning, turning claims it
fixing my restless form
in these shadows behind glass,
behind curtains, hold-not-holding
my breath and how long I gaze
but turn away first, wondering
what sign, omen, message
did you bring: that I should keep watchful?
be patient, unmoved? make eye contact
and my presence known, then fly on
when no one’s looking
A hawk always seems like an omen, doesn’t it? (K)
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I always count them lucky. My wife and I will say, “I had a three hawk day.”
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That sounds like a good day indeed!
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Maybe we like them because we admire them. In their singlemindedness, hunting without mercy, it sanctions our own lack of pity.
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Love this poem :))
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Thank you!!
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I’m glad to hear your voice, as well ~
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Thank you, just the cheer I needed. 🙂
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